More Than a Prince
by Psychoswordlady
Summary: [CamusxMarth, FE3, Yaoi, Camus POV, oneshot, yada yada yada] My prince, I must admit, my loyalties to you extend beyond knightly oaths. But will you ever give me what I wish for so desperately? [Rated R for lemonish goodness]


More Than A Prince

Pairing: MarthxCamus  
POV: Camus  
Rating: R for a description of a brief love scene (omg pr0n)

Notes: HOKAY I KNOW THIS PHAILS AT LIFE KTHXDIE. I haven't written Fire Emblem in over eight months and now I know damn well why. Never mix Fire Emblem and the y board in 4chan, because you end up with crap fanfics like this that make the Internet a little worse, one word at a time. And this isn't pr0n because the characters are actually in love and not just randomly boinking. So stfu, flamers. If you want innocent crap then go read something G-rated.

Oh yeah, this is sort of alternate-universe, sort of kind of in a minor kind of way. Because anyone who's played Fire Emblem 3 the whole way through knows that Camus DIES in Book One. (Look for it mentioned in the intro text to Chapter Five, I think. It says roughly "Grunia's best knight, Camus, died in the fighting." I don't remember the exact line, but it included the katakana for Camus's name and "shinda" (died) in the same sentence. It was in the level where Marth gets the Fire Emblem from Nina.) He gets RESURRECTED BY ELLIS in Book Two. In Book Two, Marth is 21 years old, and thus he and Camus don't meet when he's sixteen because CAMUS IS DEAD. So yes this is AU. Also, I don't care if you say this is OOC. Because, again, anyone who's played through FE3 knows that characters not named Marth and Sheeda get at best three opportunities to talk to anyone, and at worst get only a death line. Marth gets very few speaking lines per book (because I consider the two books separate games) compared to any other lord in the series, including Sigurd and Celice. Leaf doesn't freaking shut up, and thus every lord from FE5 on is a blabbermouth. So stfu if you're a canon nazi. I am too, but I don't wanna change it because Marth would be even more OOC were I to use 21 year old Marth. So just appreciate it for the story and the fact that I use correct grammar (for the most part).

AND YES THEY'RE GAY DAMMIT. HOW THE HELL IS A GUY WHO WEARS NO PANTS UNTIL HE'S 21 AND WEARS A TIARA ALL THE TIME NOT GAY. CAMUS'S FLUFFY SCARF THING MAKES ME QUESTION HIS SEXUALITY AS WELL. SO IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH TWO GUYS DOING THE DEED THEN GO JUMP INTO AN ACTIVE VOLCANO YOU HATER. (/rant)

And of course, if I owned Fire Emblem I'd have remade FE3 for the DS, put in support convos, given everyone a speaking line and added in canon slash other than RaddyXCeazer and RicardoXJulian. I think it's pretty damn obvious that people on this site don't own anything they write about.

(story::begin)

The prince lay against me there in the darkness, silent with sleep. I wouldn't have known he was there if I hadn't heard his soft heartbeat next to me and felt the warmth of his slender form. Moonlight filtered through the fabric of the tent to linger on his cheeks like a hummingbird at rest. My head was still whirling from what had happened in the hours before, how all the emotions we had held from each other could have been set free and culminated in one physical night.

Let me take a moment to think back on how it all started. I remember when I first saw him. He stood there in the sunlit field, and his cape swirled about his ankles and the sun bathed him in its fire, making his hair shine with the brilliance of a thousand sapphires. I halted my horse and walked over to him in a trance. He turned to face me and I immediately dropped to my knees, and I stated I was a knight of Grunia but I was loyal to Aritia and his allies. I introduced myself as "Sirius", too afraid to reveal my identity until months later. Yes, I was afraid- I am a knight, but I have no remorse in admitting it. And he just smiled and welcomed me as the new cavalry commander. I thought it amazing that a prince who had been betrayed so many times before—even by the soldiers of my homeland, men I had known and fought beside—could so quickly put his trust in an unaccompanied knight whose only proof was his word. I thought him naive, even a little dim to be honest. But, for reasons unknown to me at the time, I found his childish naïveté quite... intriguing.

I admit to daydreaming on the battlefield, about his smile and his gentle voice, still unchanged by the hands of time. I knew it was inappropriate, as he was only sixteen and I twenty-five, and nine years separated us. And more importantly, a world of status stood between us--Marth, the prince of the great nation of Aritia and I, Camus, a mere knight from the countryside of Grunia. Still, whenever I found myself wishing for him, I would fight ever harder in his honor. Even if he was not _my _prince, even though I served Grunia's Princess Nina, I still felt I had to protect him. It was his sister who awoke me from my deathlike slumber after the battle in Castle Grunia, and despite my deep gratitude to her, it was him, Prince Marth, and not Princess Ellis that I desired so.

And yet, every time I spoke to him, every time he smiled at me, was an opportunity for me to tell him how I felt, opportunities I always passed up for fear of rejection. He seemed so kind, so noble, almost regal, and yet so distant in his royalty. It was as if he were some fascinatingly beautiful statue locked inside a glass case and all I could do was look, but not touch. And so I suppressed my desires and continued to serve him as a knight, and only as such. To maintain my status as a knight, the closest I believed I would ever get to him, I had to hide away that which made me wish to serve him in the first place.

Sometimes, late at night, I'd find myself thinking about him, if he ever wanted some knight in shining armor to whisk him away to some other castle. If he had envisioned himself with a princess, or another prince, or even a peasant, or, if my luck is to serve me, a certain blond-haired knight? I wondered, although I assume this is more my fantasy than his, if he had ever dreamed of aforementioned knight taking him to his home in the hills of Grunia and making love to him on his favorite quilt. If ever he had dreamt it, I would certainly be willing to make it happen. Although, I must say, he was not the first man I had had dreams about. I had kissed a few before, even spent the night with one or two, but never have these feelings been so strong for one other than Marth Lowell, the prince of Aritia.

And by the same thought, today, this mild spring day almost a year after I first met him, was my last day as a lover only in my dreams and my first day as a lover in solid reality. This afternoon, he called me into his tent as he usually does to deliver the reports on the cavalry. He were sitting there on the side of the bed, wearing only a short tunic and a pair of boots. He invited me to stay for dinner, and as we ate our stew I couldn't stop thinking about what it meant. I wondered if he knew how I felt, if I had somehow failed in hiding my emotions and presenting myself as a mere military ally. I couldn't stop staring at him. I knew it seemed rude, but he should have understood that if an attractive young man such as himself were to wear next to nothing as he were that afternoon, many people in this army, and not just myself, would certainly be looking. He tempted me so, that beautiful prince, with his long, smooth legs and perfect soft face yet untouched by the hands of maturity. It may seem rather unknightly to express such thoughts on the man I am supposed to serve, but I am quite certain others have had the same feelings for him. And as he sat there on the bed, I felt an urge I could not further suppress, and finally I spoke.

For the first time I had something other than military business to tell him. Often, he had asked me about what was going on with me, what my home was like and about my family, and I really hadn't much to say. But now, it was I who dared to speak of rather more unprofessional matters. I bowed my head and said, "My prince. I must inform you of something quite important."

He tilted his head and looked at me innocently. "Yes, Sir Camus?"

I kept my face as stoic as I could and tried to eliminate all traces of nonprofessionalism from my voice. "My prince, as you know, I have sworn an oath to you to serve you as any natural-born Aritian would."

He idly toyed with a lock of hair as he nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes, and...?"

"Prince Marth, I have come to the realization that my feelings towards you are somewhat less than knightly."

"How so?"

"I will admit, milord, that my loyalties to you extend a bit further than the oaths." I thought it rude to tell him frankly of the sort of dreams I had had about him, so I was trying to word it as indirectly as I could. I almost wished I hadn't started speaking in the first place.

"Sir Camus, what are you trying to say?"

I lost the courage to continue, secretly cursed myself as a horrible knight, and turned away. "Forget I said anything, my prince. It is nothing to concern yourself with."

But he wouldn't just leave it there. I truly do admire his persistence at times. He clenched my arms with his still-young hands and stared me down. "Don't tell me what I should concern myself with! I took enough of that from my father. Now please, Sir Camus, whatever is the matter?"

"Milord, please, you have far too much to worry about to be involved in the affairs of a lowly foreign knight."

He pouted, in a rare show of immaturity, and told me, "That matters not! I care about all the knights, and you are certainly no exception. Sir Camus, I order you to tell me what's going on." As I stared at him and he stared at me, I finally gave in and told him.

"Prince Marth. Despite the fact that you are not my original liege, I feel much more deeply loyal to you than to Princess Nina. I hate to seem like a... a lecher, but it isn't merely for your leadership capabilities."

"Are you saying you..." he said in a low voice, trailing off.

I finished his sentence grudgingly. "I wish to lie with you, my prince."

His shoulders relaxed as realization dawned on him, but he made no sound; only stared at me in foggy silence.

My eyes shut in shame. I wanted to turn around and leave, but I knew that I would only hate myself all the more for it. "I'm sorry, milord. That was extremely rude of me, and inappropriate as well. A knight--no, a man such as myself, and you... You are but a child, my prince. Forgive me for speaking such blasphemies."

To my surprise, he leapt onto me and pressed his nose against mine. I felt my breath hitch. I could feel the anger in his eyes drilling into my own. Panting, he hissed, "Sir Camus. Do not ever call me a child. Ever." He ripped open my coat and threw it onto the dirt floor. His tongue snaked out and licked my upper lip enticingly. What could I do but give in? I grabbed the side of his face and pulled him closer, and his lips locked with mine like a magnet to steel. I felt his legs slide around my waist and his feet intertwine in the small of my back.

He rolled my shirt up over me, and as soon as my lips were once more exposed he kissed me again, for longer this time, and wrung the middle of the shirt between my wrists as if he had captured and handcuffed me like a prisoner. I did nothing to resist. He slid down a bit and undid the button of my pants with his teeth--quite deftly, I noted.

Thoughts of the repercussions of my actions flickered across my mind, but I paid them no heed. I wanted him like I wanted no other. What did it matter what happened here in this tent? I would deal with it later. All I wanted to think about was him. I unsnapped the collar band on his tunic, and it fell open to show his collarbones rising gently from his slender but hard physique. He was at the age when the grace and fragile beauty of youth collided with the strength of manhood, an age that provided the extra intrigue of "here today, gone tomorrow" to his natural allure.

He slid his belt out of its loops and strapped my wrist to a bedpost. His loyal captive stared back up at him speechlessly as he lay atop me. "Do you still think me a child now, Sir Camus?" he growled, his voice just deep enough to send a chill through me. He dragged a finger across my chest, grinning flirtatiously. I returned the smile and kissed him at the base of his neck, eliciting a soft moan. He retreated and nibbled on my earlobe, and the rosy scent of his hair crossed my nose.

"No, my prince," I replied as he sat upon my lap and his legs folded atop mine, barely covered by the thin fabric of his tunic. One of my hands came to rest upon his, which lay along the youthful curve of his hip in a vaguely domineering pose.

"Because I'll show you I'm not a child," he said with a hint of reckless arrogance. He spun around and lay his back against my chest, and one of his feet rubbed seductively against the inside of my calf. My hands slid around his waist and tried to press against the warm, milky skin of his stomach, but he wouldn't allow it; rather, he pushed my hands slightly further down. They tensed a bit at the unfamiliar territory, as I was not quite accustomed to touching other men in a place like that. But the firm pressure of his hands atop my own, preventing their retreat, effectively reassured them.

"Go on, Sir Camus," he purred. "Touch me."

My face burned. To hear such provocative words from the prince I had thought to be so pure, naïve and innocent drove far deeper into me the realization that I didn't know him as I thought I did. I opened my mouth to say something, but his finger shushed me as it made contact with my lips and slid in just enough to touch my tongue, and I tasted the sweet softness of his skin for just a moment before it moved on to tease at my chin and the few hairs my razor had left behind. All the while his other hand held mine fast to his nether regions.

"What are you waiting for, Sir Camus?" His thin, stiff fingers controlled mine like those of a marionette and forced them to touch him in his most delicate area. My heart pounded in my throat. He pushed my fingers shut and cooed my name softly. The sound of his voice enticed me and I felt I couldn't hold back any longer.

Before I knew what happened, I felt that glorious, liberating sense of release I had known only a few times before, and I heard his gentle moans escalate into cries of passion. Our union soon ended and I fell back onto the bed, speechless with exhilaration, and he collapsed on top of me, his whole body heaving with each breath. What had moments ago been one was now two again, and amid the slowly waning pleasure I felt a tinge of regret that it couldn't have lasted longer. Not that I wasn't pleased with the night's events, no, I could tell both of us were far more than content. I simply wished it had never ended, as I had waited so long and wanted so badly for the chance to make love to him that I was a bit disappointed when it flew by so fast.

Soon he regained his composure and looked over at me with a serene smile. I knew no words to speak then, and eventually managed a shaky "Was it to your liking, my prince?"

"Yes," he said curtly. "Thank you, Sir Camus."

I sensed dissatisfaction. "Did I do something wrong?"

He paused. "No. It was my first time, anyhow."

"My prince, is there something bothering you?"

Another pause ensued. "Not really, no. It's just, well, before my father died, he had made arrangements with the king of Talis for Princess Sheeda and me to be wed."

My throat plummeted into my chest. "Truly? Then, by meeting here tonight, we have committed something unforgivable."

"No matter," he said nonchalantly. "I don't plan on following through with the plans anyway."

Relief washed over me, but something still ate at my mind. "My prince, if you were to be wed…" I felt a bit of shame at the rest of the question. "Would you still take me as a lover?"

He grinned a bit. "Possibly."

"Because I would certainly—"

My reply was cut off. "We'll discuss it in the morning, Sir Camus." With that, he tugged the blankets over his shoulder and curled up next to me. I felt him let out a drowsy sigh, and his hand cupped around my shoulder in sleep.

As I stared at his sleeping form, I realized I needed to tell him. Here, in this bed, we were no longer prince and knight. No inhibitions regarding formalities and status needed exist between us; however, that's not to say they didn't. It wasn't some fairy tale where the princess, or in this case the prince, came under the handsome knight's spell and fell madly in love with him. That was far from it—in fact, I will probably never know for sure if he ever truly found me attractive at all, let alone dashing or anything of the sort. I couldn't help thinking that he had just used me as a tool to prove to himself he was no longer a child, or at the very least to lose his virginity. The relationship between a prince and his knight, by its very nature, is always destined to be far from perfect, dysfunctional if you will. I wasn't even sure if he'd have me as a lover tomorrow, or next week, or ever again. As a sort of plea for him to keep me around for another day, I kissed him on his soft, youthful cheek and whispered, "I love you."

He shifted a bit, and mumbled, "Mm." Apparently, a grunt was all I warranted.

Eventually, I drifted off as well. Dreams of the prince floated through my mind, ranging from chaste fantasies of walks through the countryside of Grunia to the downright naughty. I wondered if I would ever get what I so desired from him—trust, companionship, stability and commitment as partners, or if we were doomed to live out our lives together night by night as mere lovers. I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to take him home and show him where I live, not just speak of it. If we would ever be more than a prince and his knight. If we would ever truly be able to think of the other as an equal. Those things I don't know, and I probably never will. I only know now that he, Prince Marth Lowell of Aritia, was far more than a prince to me.


End file.
